


the sin fic

by TheBrokaryotes



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Criminal Minds Kink Meme, M/M, dicks??????????????, im tainting the innocence of this account with my sin, not specifically stated but sure yeah, reid gets a boner, reid has naughty dreams, um, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4388558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrokaryotes/pseuds/TheBrokaryotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which reid has weird dreams he can't explain and also gets an unwelcome visitor at 2 in the morning</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sin fic

The air hangs loosely and in a faded haze, basking in the low sultry glow of the evanescent twilight shining through the window. Everything looks like it had been put through a filter. It was fake, too good to be true, but Reid isn’t thinking about that. He isn’t thinking about much of anything.

The first thing he notices about himself is how _good_ he feels. Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally. It was like a wave; he could feel the euphoria swelling in his heart, could feel himself brimming with awe and sickeningly sweet peace. Then he feels it recede, gradually, and with a promise of return. It leaves him with a moment to think, _is that what it feels like to be at peace? Is that how normal people feel?_

It returns, and the thoughts in his brain scattered like a flock of birds in all directions, because _it’s different this time._ It was still euphoric and intoxicating—a mental high he couldn’t quite compare to Dilaudid, but that came pretty damn close—but now it’s no longer peaceful. If it had been the artificial shining red of a glacé cherry before, now it was the burning tendril of hot flame, licking at his insides and sending them squirming, bringing his own mind to lurch into itself and find whatever remnants of instinct he had left inside a body so far removed from wherever it had originated.

 _Instinct_ , he thought, the concept leaping across his brain like an animal chasing it’s prey.

Again, the euphoria began to shrink away. _No, don’t_ , Reid whines internally, extending cerebral feelers for it again and coming up empty. He felt drained suddenly, fear lashing coldly through his blood, and the room began to spin. Where is he? What is he doing? All he knows was that _he needs that high, whatever it is, bring it back, I need it._

His hand hits something firm, cool. A wall, perhaps. It brings him no support, no comfort, nothing like that feeling had. He begins to slip, the floor rising to meet him, his body so prepared to crumple into a heap without _that, whatever it was—_

“Reid.”

That voice. That _voice._

The sensation crashes right back into Reid’s chest, so hard he feels himself gasp for air. Two hands reach out to catch him by his shoulders, squeezing tightly and righting him once again. He feels himself stand, knees buckled slightly, but the pressure of those strong fingers remains, and a steadier, heavier presence begins to push forward, a heat akin to the euphoria in Reid’s mind.

The young doctor opens his eyes, no longer met with the contrived haze of what now in hindsight had been his bedroom. No, now there was someone with him, keeping him on his feet, keeping him from going insane.

“Morgan—” The name rips out of Reid’s mouth, and at the same time, Morgan moves forward again. Reid feels the solidity of the wall behind him and the firmness of Morgan’s body before him, pressing close, closer…

“Reid, tell me what you need,” the agent demands, now flush against the other. His hands had shifted, now running down Reid’s arms, his waist, his hips… their heels began to push on the genius’ pelvis, pressing him into the embrace of the wall while simultaneously pulling him higher, forcing his legs wider to accommodate Morgan’s body.

A shot of something foreign and _grand_ skitters up from Reid’s solar plexus to his brain and back again sporadically, sending his back arching. This action only exasperated the sensation, which in turn made him arch more, a mercurial cycle of furor. He opens his mouth to speak, but there are no words he can think of to make it any better.

Wet lips press to Reid’s neck, pensive kisses lining his trachea and curving around below his jaw. Teeth graze his skin, and as he begins to relax, they bite, little pinches of flesh meant to elicit violent responses.

They succeed marginally. Reid can’t move much beneath Morgan’s bulk, but he still manages to squirm, drawing tight breath through his teeth. He needs to _move_ , but what can he do? He needs to rid himself of the electricity slicing through his veins, needs to exert some kind of energy just to breath comfortably, but he _can’t_ , it feels too good. But he has to.

Of their own accord, Reid’s hands move up Morgan’s waist, feeling the ecstatic heat of his skin underneath cotton. He can feel that skin jump, muscles twitching as they’re tickled.

Preoccupied with dispersing his own pent up tension, Reid notices too late the sound Morgan makes, the primal growl, and the increase in pressure at his hips. His fingernails dig up beneath the hem of faded gray cotton, catching on skin so pale there was barely a chance it had ever seen the sun before, leaving sweet pink marks that drag from Reid’s waist to his ribcage. “Is that what you need?” comes the follow up question, raspy and _desperate_ , in Reid’s conjecture. _No, no, that’s not enough, I—_

“Mo-organ,” he tries again, the name heavy and lazy in his mouth. His fingers finding their own way up underneath Morgan’s covering, and recoiling at the sheer _heat_ lingering just above the surface of his skin. Like heated bronze, he scintillates, muscles shifting under flesh pulled taught.

The euphoria returns again, and Reid aches, he absolutely _aches_ for more. It’s so strong, so absorbing, he can’t imagine it could get any better, but somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knows there’s only more to come, that whatever is better is _much better._

Reid’s vision staggers, it’s all he can do to keep his gaze on Morgan’s shoulder. His tongue darts over his lips, hands circling forward to push up the front of the agent’s shirt. He feels greed to touch overtake sensibility, which had in truth been gone for quite a while, and his fingers crawl like dainty spiders up nearly to Morgan’s collar, but their journey is cut short as Morgan pulls back, hand flashing away from the surface of Reid’s abdomen and seizing him by the wrists.

A short yelp of astoundment flies from Reid’s throat as his hands are pinned above his head. His conscious mind squirms against this restraint, wanting only to be free, to get a better feel, a better taste of what gold mine he had uncovered. His subconscious mind delights, however, because _yes, that’s good, I deserve that. Pin me down, hold me down, do whatever you want, I need it so bad—_

The euphoria squiggles from him again, leaving his skin burning and his mind numb. He couldn’t function without it anymore. It was his ticket to bliss, his own personal high, his ephemeral arousal.

Morgan, keen to his desire, leans back into his neck, working his way up to Reid’s ear. “I can get it back for you,” he taunts, voice so low and sultry it sent a shiver down the other's spine. Though Reid can't be sure how he knew about the sensation, he asks no questions. His eyes flicker to Morgan's as he pulls back, and he swears he can see the euphoria wisping in that perfect brown gaze. 

"Please," Reid begs, mouth dry. He doesn't even notice Morgan move, but what he does notice is the same yo-yo of electricity bouncing through his body from his groin to his head, woozy with blood circulating too fast, and down to the tips of his toes.

The pressure releases, and is quickly replaced with the flitting business and cluelessness of one hand undoing buttons and zippers, while the other keeps Reid relatively stationary.

Reid gnaws on his inner cheek, then his lower lip, and cheek again. The energy he had to release before had built up again, and with no physical outlet in which to manifest, he releases an audible cue, a moan dragging unceremoniously out of his throat. It sounded foreign and otherworldly; it couldn't have belonged to him.

Morgan's hand palms at the area veiled now only by one thin sheet of fabric, but wastes no time in the tease. One swift movement, and it's skin on skin, rough fingerpads brushing up and down virgin flesh, untouched by anyone else.

The stars behind Reid's eyes flash faster and faster, and the sensation swells for what he can feel will be the last time. It's wild, carnal, angry now, the tumultuous red-violet of the twilight sea before a storm, and coupled with Morgan's touch, it's unbearable.

"M-Morgan..." This was it. Reid felt himself buck, couldn't tell in which direction, his whole world was upside-down. His fingers clench and unclench, frantically searching for something more solid than air to grip. Morgan leans into his collar, pushing aside the cotton with his lips to kiss and bite, kiss and bite in time with each pump of his hand, over and over until he's bypassed kissing and now just nips, suckling and leaving a dirty red mark.

"Morgan!" Reid writhes, vision blacking out entirely. He hears himself scream, feels the raw boiling heat of his stomach deepen and worsen, that sensation stirring within him and coiling like a spring. He was close, he was _so close, just a little more, just one more, please, I can't, please—_

Reid jolts awake with a start, springing upright so fast he grew lightheaded. Moonlight streams through the open window. He's alone.

He brings a hand to his cheek, propping himself up on his elbow before pushing upright and feeling at his forehead. Warm, mildly. Internal temperature of 98.6. Blood pressure of 110 over 8.

He blinks, and the visions of what had almost certainly just transpired stare back at him with each eye movement. What was that? What had it been? Reid squeezes his eyes shut to rid his mind of the image, but it remains, unfading, as vivid as day.

He falls backward in his bed, left hand coming to rest at his side while his right lays gently down on his chest. He felt uncomfortable now, daunted by the prospect of both going back to sleep and remaining awake. His mind burned with memories, downright _memories_ , of what he'd just conjured up. Everything had felt was so real, so raw and true, and he now had to reassemble his entire reality now that he knew it was not.

What he remembers first is the sensation, and it's all he can do not to compare it immediately to Dilaudid. That must've been what it meant, that high, that euphoria, it was the drug. He'd been off it for quite some time now, but it wasn't like the idea that it was there didn't cross his mind every once in a while.

What he remembers secondly is _Morgan, oh god Morgan, I had a dream about Derek Morgan touching me and I was enjoying it, oh god Morgan, not Morgan, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Let it be Prentiss or JJ, or even Hotch, for God's sake, but not Morgan._

Reid turns his burning face to the side, the coolness of the pillow bringing him minimal comfort. He didn't want to think about this anymore, wanted it to be done and over with. Dream analysis had never brought him any reprieve, but he still began to subconsciously soothe himself with statistics and studies on the pertinence of Morgan's presence in his head. And he began to calm, as he remembered that sexual fantasy, especially dreams, in which the partner is a friend, indicates closeness, a bond strong enough to manifest in the subconscious as sexual desire. Of course, it could also indicate a level of attraction he was too afraid to admit—

He shakes his head, words floating out of his mind. Stop. Right now. No more thoughts.

And it didn't help, not in the least, that this wasn't the first time he'd had a dream like this. Of course, nothing that had occurred formerly had been nearly as vivd and immersive as _that_. Whatever _that_ had been was on a completely different level. Reid knew he was going to be picking his own brain about it for the rest of the night unless he forced himself back to sleep.

Turning on his side, he exhales. He curls his legs up slightly, and freezes. _No. No, no, not right now, please._

Reid pulls another pillow up to himself, pressing his face into it and groaning loudly. Sadly, nocturnal penile tumescence was an embarrassingly common occurrence in his life, as it was with most males, though not nearly as common in males his age. But reassuringly, after enough experiences with it, he had an out.

“Hydrogen, one point one grams per mole,” he murmurs, letting his eyes close. Helium, four point one grams per mole.” He shifts his legs again, breathing in the fibrous scent of the pillowcase. “Lithium, six point nine grams per mole. Beryllium… Boron… Carbon… Nitrogen… Oxygen… Fluorine…”

He gets all the way up to tungsten before his unwelcome friend began to fade, and didn’t vanish entirely until well after he had passed lead. But it was gone, and that was all that mattered. Crisis averted.

For now.

\--

“Hey, pretty boy—”

Reid jumped behind his work desk, tea sloshing over the lip of his mug and onto his leg. He winces, breathing in sharply and turning his head.

Morgan had his eyebrows raised, mouth half open. His gaze flickers back up to Reid’s own, brown irises laughing. He raises his hands submissively, cracking into a grin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”

“No, yo-you didn’t, I uh, just, uh-m…” Reid tucks a strand of hair behind his ear wontly, lips pursing as he wets them. His gaze drops as an unwelcome blur of the concoction of hormones that had stewed inside his head and solar plexus the night before flashes over his temporal lobe.

He glances up as he shoves it back into its corner of shame, forcing a smile.

“You just startled me.”

**Author's Note:**

> why


End file.
